Today, as I wrote the date, I looked at the sort-of familiar number. Finally occurred to me that yesterday was the 21st anniversary of our deployment, and the beginning of our relationship. We'd gone out to meet with our real estate agent, and a mortgage guy at an unrelated open house. Because the house we saw Saturday fit us rather well. We wound up chatting with both of them for a long time, since no one showed up to see the house they were actually showing. So we learned about how the real estate thingmabob works a bit more, and told stories, all casual but to a purpose. And, gods help us, we put in a bid for that short sale* house. Earnest money and everything. Got pre-approved for the loan. Apparently, we are a good risk.
We are both a bit terrified, expecting to be screwed over, cynical. But telling our story helped put it in perspective. Starting with our first date - Gulf War I. Moving out to Boston precipitously, our friends sending our stuff along later because our mover didn't even show up. On the way home, I thought about how much easier it is to be a good nurse to reasonable people. I have to think it's the same in every profession. We do our side of the work, listen carefully, pay attention, try not to be stupid. Make other's jobs easier. Sometimes their response to us is just salesmanship, but often, it is genuine affection.
Our impression is that our agent , L is a pro, and a decent human being, and we are most likely right. We could be wrong, but she has a good reputation, as we have heard going to other open houses from other agents. "Oh, her! Oh, she's the best!" "Oh, my L!" Fortune favors the prepared. I think it also favors the generally kind, by and large, on the balance. Not in any way a guarantee, of course. But nothing in life is.
L was very excited, to the point of exclamation mark abuse in her email to us to tell us we got in the first bid. I'm holding back on excitement, because of my Pooh experience. But I am quietly glad that we have a chance here.
The rest of the day, we simply stayed close to each other, talking a lot, holding hands, keeping each other calm, planning our holiday dinner with D's parents. Whatever happens, we'll make it work. This house, or another later.
And today, we remembered, and realized we'd celebrated appropriately, even if we'd forgotten.
*Mis-named, since they take a long time to work through.
7 comments:
Exciting news. It is really good news that it has worked out that you get along with your agent. Part of their job, of course, is to be good to people, but I imagine your intuition for the genuine is well honed.
21 has no meaning to me.
In an earlier post it seems you were not so keen or anxious to get into the home, that it would take a number of months. Has this gone significantly faster, or have I lost track of time?
(o)
Great news! Thinking of you, and keeping everything possible crossed. Does Moby have a viewing appointment?
Phil,
We would not have continued with her if we had not felt she was a pro.
21 isn't the meaning, merely an observation. November 20, 1990 is the date on our activation orders. We have been together or at least spoken, every day since then.
You have not lost track of time. This came up very fast, and it may still take 6 months to go through, IF the offer is accepted, which it may well not be. Huge IF.
RR,
He would not enjoy a walkthrough, as it takes him a few days in a new place before he ventures out from a closet. It's a fine idea theoretically. We do consider windowsill depth (for catbutt sizing) and running about distances, looking at it through cat eyes.
I clicked on the "pooh" entry, and am glad I did. There is treasure waiting for me in your archives! I hope your transition into homeownership continues to be pleasant and drama-free.
Joan,
When I re-read the Pooh essay, all I could think was how I would re-write it.
Crossing my fingers for you both.
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